Remember
by afriendcandide
Summary: Ziva's return from Israel brings back old habits and old wounds. Tony's concern doesn't cease when she starts withdrawing from the team as a new case digs up Ziva's way of coping with Somalia. TIVA. Contains themes of abuse/sexual abuse and adult themes. Rating may change to M later on.
1. Chapter 1

Ziva never wore her hair up in bars.

Sure, when the team was looking for a witness or a suspect, or maybe when she went out for a drink after a long case and didn't want to be bothered, she would leave it pulled away from her shoulders. Hair up meant business. Nothing conveyed strength and respect in a woman's appearance like a solid, confident ponytail. Even a tight knotted bun at the base of the neck did the trick for letting all around know that she was not in the mood for socializing. But when she went out- _out, _her hair had to be down. Straight, wavy, loose curls, tight curls- they were all blades in an arsenal of hers that spoke of an entirely different business.

Ziva had never been comfortable with having short hair. It didn't suit her, and it was no use to her and her methodology. She like to keep to her subtleties when it came to makeup, jewelry, and attire: she'd never felt at ease in much more than some eyeliner, mascara, and her signature star of David necklace. Her hair, however, was always down, out, flowing, and used to it's fullest advantage.

Tonight was no exception.

She had been in many bars in her life, all across the world, and this one fell in her top ten of dingiest and dirtiest. Smoke clouded the air as cheap shooters clouded judgement all around. It was not quite a sportsbar, not quite a dive. Without her intents and purposes, she could never see herself stopping in here. She certainly would never be back.

The front door creaked behind her back and the temperature in the place dropped considerably. It wasn't a very large or impressive place, surprising for it's downtown D.C location. The three men's arrival was only noticed from the change in climate. Still in uniform, they peeled off their white and navy caps as they sat down at the counter, five seats down from Ziva's careful peripheral vision, muttering something about that morning's exercise at Norfolk. Two of them gave Ziva a quick up and down, like the majority of the men (and some of the women) had that night. One's eyes lingered much longer.

Ziva took a gulp of her questionable whiskey, letting one of the ice cubes fall into her mouth before setting the tumbler back on the bar top. She sucked the cube between her teeth and tongue, resisting the urge to face her quiet observer. She moved her feet from beneath the counter to her left side, crossing her ankles to proudly and perfectly display her fire engine red pumps. _Funny, _she thought. It confused, no, _boggled_ her that something as simple as colored shoes or other specific attire could be considered attractive. They were not character traits, or even physical ones. _Attire _is not a defining quality in another person. Sure, she liked her men well dressed overall- _or undressed,_ she mentally quipped, but there had never been one single object that could get her like that. _Strange minds are strange. _

She switched the overlap of her prominent ankles two more times before peering over at the onlooking Petty Officer. She wasn't sure if even the bright red would stand out in the smoky and dark bar. But when she turned with her small smile, her previous watcher was no longer found between his shipmates.

"Hey." She felt a tap on her right shoulder and swiveled her neck only to meet two dark blue eyes, an almost smirk, and the dark blue uniform. "What's a pretty thing like you doing in a no good place like this?"

She paused for a beat. _Quiet. Submissive. Shy. _Words ran through her mind from a list she had carefully constructed. Add _red heels _and _vanilla perfume _and that was all she had to go on.

She smiled into her tumbler, holding it to her mouth but not taking another drink. "I've only been in the area for a few months. A friend recommended this place." She gave the man a quick up and down, pretending to be embarrassed when he noticed.

"Well, it certainly wasn't for the atmosphere-" He waived his left arm though the air, gesturing to the tasteless posters and fading black paint on the walls. "But perhaps your friend knows how good the company is, huh?"

"Is it?" She questioned, feigning nervousness as she twirled a loose curl in her fingers. Her new acquaintance gracefully slid into her adjacent barstool.

"Why, yes, yes, if I do say so myself. Mark. Petty Officer Mark Lawrence. First class." He said, extending his right hand, pushing a few loose strands back over Ziva's shoulder with a his left. She played the part well, not leaning into his touch, but not quite shrinking away either. Shock at his boldness was her friend in the situation. Once he'd removed his fingers, she smiled sweetly at him, hoping it proved genuine enough.

"First class, huh? That is impressive." She cooed, purposefully widening her eyes.

Three drinks later, he finally asked her about the shoes. Good timing too- five drinks had previously proved to be overkill, a limit that when crossed created obstacles in her clear plans. "Do you always wear shoes like that, my dear?" He reached down to play with the edges, where the shiny leather skimmed the tops of her feet, then her arches, then the beginning of her toes. She forced a hiccup.

"Only when... when I want to have a special evening. I haven't had a night free in a while, you know? Work's kept me busy." She rambled, ending in a giggle. He trailed the pads of his fingers up her calf, and the side of his thumb up her shin. Ziva folded her hands in her lap, still smiling but staring at her knuckles.

"Hey, don't be shy, you look great." He tucked her hair again, this time behind her ear. Now she met his eyes. "Beautiful." He breathed. _Such kind words. Why? _She knew she wasn't the only one playing pretend. "Hey, you are too good for a place like this. Let's get out of here, shall we?" He settles the table and grabbed his coat, all with a wink at her, Ziva blushing in the process.

"Oh... okay." She shrugged on her coat, attempting to shrink herself, to appear smaller. He put an arm around her shoulders, tipped his cap at his abandoned shipmates. Remarks were made, and he waved them off without a second glance.

They had only just made it into the alley when he'd slipped his fingers under her coat and looped them around the straps of her dress. As soon as the bar's backdoor had slammed shut behind them, she was against the blackened bricks of the wall, lips against hers. His hands ran up, down, up her sides when her coat was pushed off. His tongue did not wait for her to grant access before it was against her teeth, lips suckling the corners of her mouth. She gasped as her coat was shed. He was already working at the zipper at the back of her dress when she pretended to just regain her voice. "I.. I don't usually do this." She said softly, and all but froze in his persistent hands.

"First time for everything, doll." He did not back down. Her dresses' zipper was completely undone, the small metal tab swinging against the base of her spine.

"I mean, I do not do this. Please.. please slow down."

"Babe, _babe, _you can't just breathe on me all night, let me buy you drinks, and wear _those damn red shoes-" _He was now growling into her mouth, then her neck- "and expect to just walk away." His hands had now hitched her skirt up, making their way to her inner thighs. "Give us a smile."

"No." Ziva said clearly, the act now gone from her voice. She had to be certain. "Stop." She was met with no hesitation, his hands did not cease or slow down. His lips were making their way down her neck as she gave him one last chance and feigned a struggle. "I'm saying no."

"So am I, doll."

There it was. In no time at all, before his sticky lips could get past her collarbone, she had one wrist in a vice grip and one swift movement put his heavy limbs where hers had just been. She stomped a red pump against the brick wall, between his legs and only inches below his obvious arousal. "Let me get this straight." She repositioned her foot for a more solid and threatening hold. "I said no, I want to slow down, and you decided to just keep going?" She pulled him by his collar, slamming the back of his head against the cold bricks.

"No, no! I just... I..." He quivered under her narrowed gaze, and tried to struggle free.

"You just.. what? Just what? Did not understand? Did I lead you on? I bet it was all that 'no, stop' stuff I was saying. I guess I was not-" She brought her foot up, now directly in contact with him- "_clear_ enough. He squirmed in her grasp but couldn't break her grip. "How does it feel, _Mark? _To be under someones control? To be..." The red pump went up another inch- "_helpless?" _

"I... I..." His gaze darted from side to side, his whole head shaking in fear. She tightened her grip on his wrist.

"You seem to be too dumb- or afraid, I do not care which, to speak. So I will speak." She twisted his arm quickly so his chest was now pinned to the wall, one arm contorted stiff behind his back. She pressed the point of her elbow into his back, and he was immobilized as she released his collar and dug in her jacket pocket. She pulled out a series of pictures. "Marcia Grey." She slammed a picture of a young, bruised woman against the wall, next to his ear, close enough so he could see her bruises in the dark. "Jessica Felt." Another photo. "Hannah Mason." Another photo. "All mid twenties, all the same build, all wearing red heels, vanilla perfume." She pulled his head back momentarily just to slam it back into it's rightful position. "All outside of shitty bars like this one. Your credit card tells a story of you conveniently being there with them." She released his head, moving her left hand to grasp a shoulder- initially gentle, until she shoved herself next to his hear, her angry breath not tickling but scalding the skin on the nape of his neck. "Tell me, _Mark, _did they fight back?"

"Look lady, look, I'm sorry, let's just forget about..." His rambling was abruptly ended by Ziva producing a cold blade against his cheek.

"You will NOT forget!" She snarled directly into his ear. She flipped the blade, originally lying flat on his cheek, to it's sharp edge. "You may have already forgotten them, but they have not forgotten you!" Her practiced mask for her accent was beginning to slip. Her harsh foreign tone would be obvious if he were listening for it. "They will never forget, and it will never disappear! And now-" she slid the edge of the blade down his cheek and around to the base of his throat, the front of his neck. One diagonal slice. "Now, neither will you." Another opposing cut resulted in a bright red 'X', the blade expressing the excess malice she no longer had room for in her voice. Not deep enough for any harmful bleeding. She pulled out a small spray bottle, and before he could protest, she sprayed the fresh wound. He tried to scream but Ziva stifled his mouth with her free hand. "This will not heal. It will cloth, then it will scab, but the scar will not go away."

She released him. The man's initial reaction was to retaliate, to attack back. But he could do nothing but clutch at the stinging skin on his throat. He sank to the ground. Ziva placed her right heel on him, looking down, the venom in her eyes unwavering. He managed to regain his voice. "Are.. you.. a cop?"

She chuckled and sank the heel down harder into his side. "No, I am not. And I suggest you do not involve any." The heel went down harder, now for the last time. "I will be watching you. I will remember this." And with one swift and loaded kick to his head, Petty Officer Mark Lawrence was left unconscious in the dark alley that he would certainly never forget.

Tony thumbed the bright picture taped to the side of his monitor. _Bun in the oven. _An undercover pregnant Ziva smiled back at him with her signature smile, showing only the top row of teeth but beaming and glowing nonetheless. _Yellow has always been a good color on her, _he thought to himself. He quickly swept the thought out of his mind, like he was going to get caught by one of his coworkers through some mind-reading interrogation. His eyes remained on the picture until he tore them over to Ziva's vacant desk. She'd been back from Israel for about two weeks, and they had yet to get into much detail about her trip. _Didn't talk much about her last trip to Israel, either, _Tony reminded himself. He sighed. Too many things were unspoken between the two of them, regardless of their new status of being open and honest. He was afraid of what would come out if he should accidentally open old wounds. He was shaken from his thoughts by the sound of the elevator doors opening to reveal one Special Agent Timothy McGee.

"McTardypants, where have ya been? I was starting to think you and Ziva had quit on me." He fiddled around with the danish sitting on his desk. McGee rolled his eyes and made his way over, holding three white cups and one extra large CafPow.

"It's 0700 Tony. We are not late, you are just early. Like you have been all week." He set a cup down in front of Tony. "You coming in at the crack of dawn isn't going to be much help in catching Bodner, especially since we're currently working on other cases. Trail's gone cold, Tony."

Tony gave a small smile, picked up the cup, staring at it in his hands. "Yeah, yeah, I know. I'm just doing my best. For her, ya know? And the team of course." He switched the hot cup from hand to hand rapidly, avoiding contact with it for too long. "Where is our resident Israeli anyway? She is almost always here before I am."

"Good question." Said McGee, eyes turning expectantly to the elevator. "Have you noticed something off in the last few weeks? I mean, I guess it's expected... I'd be the same way if, you know." McGee lost his verbal footing. To make up for it, he shuffled over to Ziva's empty desk and placed the third cup down. Something caught his eye. "Tony, you know that she has that old boarding school picture of you taped to her monitor?"

Tony hit his palm to his forehead and then held his head in his hands. "Yeah, I know, I know. Can't convince her to take it off." His head down, McGee couldn't see the small smile forming on Tony's lips at the thought.

"Well, I'm headed down to Abby's lab. Said I'd check with her first thing in the morning. She keeps asking for me to come down but then doesn't have anything really to show me. You think she's starting to get lonely down there?" McGee questioned, moving back to the center of the bullpen.

Tony chuckled. "McGee, you have a lot to learn about women, young _padawan. _Go. See your woman." McGee looked as if he were going to protest, but then decided against it, taking his own coffee cup and the CafPow to the elevator. He was about to press the button when they opened to reveal Ziva. Tony watched from the distance as the two younger agents greeted each other, McGee making a strange face, Tim's eyes trailing her as the elevator doors closed on him and she made her way to the desks. Tony's heart skipped a beat when he saw why.

"Good morning, Tony." Ziva said in her usual pleasant way. Everything looked perfectly normal- hair back in it's familiar fierce ponytail, clean pressed blouse and cargo pants, leather boots. Star of David necklace, a smell of her lavender shampoo. A small but dark purple bruise right below her cheekbone.

_"One of you will tell me the identities and locations of agents in the area, and the other one, will die!" Saleem ripped off the bag to reveal Ziva. Tony's heartbeat was absent. Alive. Beautiful. Breathing. Damaged. One eye shadowed with an unmistakeable bruise. She's here. _

"Tony, good morning? You look as though you had seen a ghost." Ziva gave him a look as she set her bag and coat behind her desk and took her place behind her computer. Acting normal.

"Ziva, uh, hey. Have anything to share?" He said, his voice wavering with poorly hidden alarm. He gestured to below his eye when she looked at him questioningly. "Anything at all?"

"Oh." She averted from his gaze. "Sparring at the NCIS gym. That Agent Krager has a mean left anchor." She started up her computer, not letting her eyes leave the blank monitor.

"Hook. I think you mean hook." Tony said, standing up from his desk and closing the space between them. "Ziva, really? You're going to tell me that's from_ sparring? _First off, lamest excuse ever, second, I know no one would get the upper hand on our ninja like that."

"Fine, Tony, I am fine. Stop hovering." She finally looked up at him, but his eyes were fixed on the small bruise. An occupational hazard, it was really nothing_ too _out of the ordinary. But Tony couldn't help but worry and wonder. Before she could turn back to her computer, he placed his right hand next to her face, tucking his fingers into her hair and swiping his thumb across the bruise on her cheek. Tony's lips narrowed into a line when she flinched ever so slightly, but didn't back away. Her lips parted in surprise, but she didn't stop him. His brow was now knotted from a mix of frustration and concern. "Tony, do not. I am okay." She said, much more softly this time. Tony opened his mouth to speak but was cut off by Gibbs striding into bullpen.

"Dead Marine. Quantico. Grab your-" He halted upon seeing his two agents. At first Tony thought it was because of their proximity, which they both quickly gave more space to, but Gibbs' eyes were fixated on the bruise as well. Tony wondered if Gibbs saw Somalia in it too. "David, everything alright?"

Ziva was already in motion, grabbing her coat and backpack. "Yes, Gibbs. I am fine. McGee was headed down to Abby's lab when I arrived. Shall I go get him?"

Gibbs adopted Tony's look of concern, but shrugged it off. "Yes, now. We'll meet you at the cars." Ziva met Tony's eyes once more before heading out of the bullpen all too quickly. Gibbs looked pointedly at the senior field agent.

"Don't ask me, boss, she didn't fill me in, either." Tony reached for his own stuff, sighing. "I'll get the car." As he made his way over to the elevator, forgetting to ask for details about the new case, he tried to clear the morning encounter from his mind. But Tony, in all his years of being alive had gotten to know himself pretty well. He knew he'd be seeing little purple spots on tan skin for the rest of the week.


	2. Chapter 2

**AN: Thank you for the overwhelming support! This story has been on my mind for a while. Vigilante Ziva- what could be better? Please read and review! **

"Tony, I am driving, and that is the end of it. I do not feel like wasting any more time today." Ziva was exasperated, but she still had the keys to the Charger. Tony's pouts and vocalized fear of a death via fiery car crash fell on deaf ears. In an attempt to lighten the mood, she dangled the keys in front of his face, snatching them away with a laugh before he could take them from her. "Fast, but not fast enough." After this morning's encounter, she was trying to move on from Tony and Gibbs' suspicion and clear the air. By the time they had parted ways with McGee and Gibbs for their separate cars, Tony's eyes were no longer fixed on the stamp sized bruise under her eye. She hoped her honest attempts to get back to a comfortable banter with him would keep his eyes from flickering back to above her cheekbone quite as much.

Her partner rolled his eyes and resigned himself to the passengers side. "Fine. Next time there's no wiggle room. You get to be the badass ninja assassin, you get all the cool knives and guns, I should at least get to drive the car. No question."

That made her smile. One of her favorite things about Tony was that when he wanted things to be easy between them, they were. If he wanted drama, he got her to act the part, and if he wanted arguments, they would verbally brawl for hours. But on the days like today, which has been pleasantly frequent for the last few months, Tony wanted comfortable and sweet, and that was not difficult to provide.

They pulled out of the lot, trailing Gibbs' standard issue car, McGee playing navigator within. They had just made it to the main road when Tony's cell started vibrating in his pocket. He fiddled with the touchscreen and set it in the main consoles' cup holder. "Hey boss. We're right behind ya."

"I see you, DiNozzo. Didn't get a chance to catch you up on the details. We're headed to Quantico, the Marine was found there this morning in a stairwell after he didn't show up for his morning rotation." Gibbs' calm and clear voice was cut off by a shuffling sound heard over the speakerphone. Ziva glanced down at the phone, then up at her partner. She had honestly expected more resistance over her driving, and for him to bring up the morning's conversation again as soon as they were alone. Now it seemed, with Tony staring through the windshield at whatever passed the car, that he was avoiding looking at her all together.

"The officers on base who found him sent his details to my PDA. The body of one Private Marshall Destefani was found in a stairwell. Last night around 2 am..."

The rest of McGee's background was lost on Ziva. _Destefani._ The name buzzed around her head, a flitting mosquito out for blood. _Destefani. _Not a common surname, but not obscure enough to erase any paranoia. Ziva had only run across one Destefani in her thirty years. Three years ago, in Myrtle Beach, so fresh after her time in Somalia that she still wore hand restraints while she slept. _Ponytails. Headbands. Pregnant. _She'd spent fifty dollars on that inflatable, beneath-the-shirt pack. _Grocery stores. How strange. _Lost in memories taking place at a Walmart parking lot at noon, she felt her body tense and her foot sinking down on the gas pedal. Her partner shifted a bewildered gaze at her out of the corner of his eyes while McGee continued over the speakerphone. "Woah there. Slow down."

"What, Tony? We're almost there."

"Not you, McDoofus. Speedracer here is going all 'break-the-sound-barrier' on me." She felt his hand overlap hers on the steering wheel, his pinky curling over the side and into her palm. She could only stare. "You okay?" His hand jolted from her hand onto her shoulder, pressing her back into her seat, his eyes dashing between her face and the road. "Zi! That was a red light!"

"Amber." She stated, though her lack of attention to the surrounding traffic left her clueless as to the light's actual color. Embarrassed by her misstep, she locked her eyes to the windshield, slowing to a stop as the next light turned to red. She watched through the corner of her eye as Tony reached his right arm across himself to grab his phone from the center console. "Tim, we'll hear the rest at the scene." He said, hanging up in the middle of some hurried exclamation from the other end. She felt his hand slip from her shoulder to where her back and neck met. "Was it something I said?"

"No, Tony." She exclaimed, exasperated. She drove quickly all the time, often on the side of reckless, as he liked to remind her daily. How come he knew that it was a reaction this time?

Tony was not convinced. "Was it something McGee said?" She tensed under his grip, unable to hide the small flinch when her memory repeated _Destefani_ back to the present. Her eyes shifted to the glove compartment, inches from Tony's knee, unable to shake the atmosphere in her head from the first time she heard that name spoken.

_"Thank you for offering to take me home. The bus ride and walk home is pretty chilly in October, and it's kind of difficult, you know, considering." Ziva stuttered, placing her hand on the small and out of place bump on her stomach. She looked down lovingly at her fingers while her companion clamped his hand on her shoulder. "I never did get your name."_

_"Nonsense, no thanks needed. I wouldn't have it any other way. And it's David." He slipped his fingers down to her elbow, guiding her in the direction of his red Taurus. "The bus is no place for an expecting lady." _

_They reached the vehicle and he shifted all of the full plastic bags he was carrying to the top of the trunk, his left hand still attached to 'Mary'. He fished into his pocket for the keys, unlocking the doors and opening one of the rear ones. 'Mary reached to help put the bags in the backseat, but he blocked her, shaking his head and proceeding with the task himself. "David... and does David have a last name?" She questioned, tilting her head to one side. _

_Closing the back door, he turned to face her head on. He swung his fingers up to stroke the red satin headband she had holding her ponytail back. He parted his lips, and his eyes glazed over at the soft touch of the material. A few seconds passed. "Destefani." He whispered, and Ziva could sense the hesitation in his admission. She took it with a smile, and twisted to make her way around to the passenger's side. His hand clamped around her elbow again. "Allow me." There was almost a scolding in the way he escorted her around the car, not gentle or polite enough for someone he had just met, not soft enough for a gentleman. She didn't expect anything more. _

_She'd read enough of the cold case files to know what came next. As soon as she was in the seat, he buckled her in, a misbehaving child requiring restraint after a temper tantrum. She was straddled quickly, and the door closed. Without any delicacy or pleasantries, violence came from him in the form of heat, masquerading as affection. Soon, she heard the glove compartment open, her view obstructed. She panicked- did he have a weapon in there? He didn't have any registered, she'd checked. She took breath again when he produced a condom, pinning her at the elbow with one hand while she squirmed under his weight. The small package was a gift, clearing up any doubt of his intentions, the permission slip that justified her turning the tables. She ripped one hand free, wrapped the seatbelt around her forearm and around her attacker's neck. She prided herself on the grace she used, holding the seat adjustment handle down, slipping her legs through and free from the lapbelt as she turned him over, letting the seat lean back from his weight until there was plenty of room. How was his hand still on her elbow? She pulled out the knife, strapped under the pregnancy pack and her loose shirt, cutting the seatbelt wrapped around his throat before-_

"The light is green." She blinked out of the memory, only then becoming aware that her entire body was on edge, her upper and lower body tensed. She took a deep breath, not looking at Tony before responding to his statement, putting the car into motion. For a moment, she thought he was going to follow up- his mouth was open and she knew he wasn't one to let things go. To her surprise, he just let out his breath, leaning his head against his own headrest. His hand travelled down her arm, and she pursed her lips, doing her best to focus solely on the road ahead. "Zi.." His fingers stopped at her elbow.

White hot touch caused her to lock her arm, her fist straightening right into his stomach, her elbow ripped from his hand in the process. She snarled, paying no attention to the grunt sounding from her partner. "What the hell, Ziva!" He grabbed her hand from his torso and shoved it back to the steering wheel. "What the hell! Do you need to pull over or something? What is the matter with you?" She wanted to look over at him. She wanted her eyes to apologize for her. But all she could focus on was the burning sensation in her elbow and her ever increasing heartbeat. She heard Tony curse to himself, not as quietly as she would have liked. The rest of the ride was endured in silence.

* * *

"This way." said the nameless Petty Officer, leading them to the crime scene. He opened the door, directing Team Gibbs into a stairwell barely wide enough for Tony's backpack. _Great. _Not only was his partner pissed at him- _for no discernible reason, _he mentally added- but now he would have to squeeze between this pimply Petty Officer and the rest of his team for the next hour or so, and get up close and personal with a corpse in closed quarters. Ziva cut in front of him before they could ascend, huffing him aside as she took the few first steps. _Well, it could be worse,_ he thought to himself as Ziva's back end sat inches in front of his face. He admired the view for all of three seconds until he felt a familiar slap to the back of his head, missing about half of it's usual force. He turned to see McGee grinning sheepishly.

"Since when do you have the right to headslap me? There's a chain of command, Probie. Gibbs can headslap me, but I headslap you."

"He asked me to." McGee gloated, basking in the moment, jutting his thumb back over his shoulder.

"Don't make me come up there, DiNozzo." Tony looked to see Gibbs simply glaring, giving a small shake of his head. Tony gulped. _There's no way he could have know where I was looking. Is there? _

"Gibbs, I've got the body." Ziva called down from the next flight. "Watch the handrail when you turn the corner." They shuffled up, Tony leading the two other men. They rounded the corner and he froze in his tracks. McGee bumped into his shoulder before taking a half step back to take in the scene. Their Petty Officer was slumped headfirst over the guard rail, his back facing upwards, still in uniform. Blood dripped from his chest, and there was a dried trail reaching down the hand railing to where the three men stood. Echoes of Ducky and Jimmy arriving rose from the ground floor. Tony watched as Ziva stood back, regarding the body, one hand hesitating in front of her. Her facial features were screwed up in a look that Tony couldn't quite place, and she inched her hand closer to the body.

"Ziver, start with the photos. McGee and DiNozzo, swab that blood, bag and tag. We leave the body for Ducky." Gibbs gave the orders and slid past him to get closer to the body and Ziva. Gibbs didn't usually state the obvious, but it seemed more and more necessary the longer Tony watched Ziva, pacing around the body, trying to get an underhand look. Tony was puzzled- what did Ziva see in this body? Was it the man himself or the death that had her so curious? Retrieving a few cotton swabs and sample jars from his backpack, Tony half immersed himself in the task of swabbing the hand railing.

He heard the light smack of skin on skin contact. "Ziva." Gibbs growled. Tony looked up to see the older man grabbing his partner's forearm. "We don't disturb the body. You know this." He watched as Ziva, the kid caught with her hand in the cookie jar, looked solemnly at the ground and picked up the camera hanging around her neck.

"No harm no foul, Jethro." Ducky's voice emerged, leading the two man charge, Jimmy just behind him, struggling with a gurney. "I was just about to flip him over myself. After you take the initial body position photos, of course, Agent David?"

Tony noticed Ziva was momentarily enthralled again by the body before snapping out of it. "Of course, Ducky." She circled the body, taking multiple photos from every important angle. She seemed to dance around it, anticipating and hurried, until Jimmy was beckoned to help move the body. Tony moved up to the landing, anxious to see just what was so damn _fascinating_ about this Petty Officer.

"Is he good looking or something?" Tony nudged his partner. She created a five foot radius of anxiety around her as her eyes followed Ducky's hands, something very obvious in the small space. He did not get a reply out of her. Tony could of swore she was holding her breath.

With one last push, Jimmy finally had the body completely face up on the gurney and began strapping it down. Tony watched Ziva's ponytail bob as she stepped forward, in one swift movement, putting a pair of examination gloves on in stride. To his surprise, she was not aiming for the man's face for an attempt of recognition, but the man's bare and pale throat. "Ziva?"

She stroked the small area of white skin and exhaled. "Were you expecting to find something there, my dear?" Ducky asked, trying to sound bemused, but doing a poor job of masking his concern, at least to Tony. He thought the undertone might be lost on her in her state of distraction. But, in her true fashion, she just turned to smile at the doctor, her eyes glinting when her voice came out a little too sweetly. "Just curious." She stripped off one of the gloves and put her hand to Ducky's cheek for a moment before ascending the next flight of stairs, camera in hand. Tony, replaying the scene in his head, followed.

"So, are you going to tell me what that was all about?" He found her taking pictures of walls, the handrail, and looking for footprints on the concrete flooring. "You may have charmed the Duckman out of suspicion, but he wasn't there when you freaked out in the car after..." Two and two clicked in the Senior Field Agent's head. ".. after McGee said the Petty Officer's name." He took a step closer, and when she wouldn't acknowledge him, gently pressed her shoulder to rotate her towards him. "Destefani, right?"

Her eyes turned from the camera lens to his face. He looked for some sort of recognition of the poor departed, slumped on a gurney a story below them. He looked for sadness, or worry, or anger. Seven years of partnership had trained him well to read Ziva's face, even through the handiwork of _her _training to not let anything show. But in this moment, all he was met with was control and calm wrapped in the neat little bow that was her Mona Lisa smile. "It is nothing, Tony, really. I think the name was familiar. But now I realize I was remembering a man with the last name Stevens. Silly, really." She shrugged it off. Not convinced, Tony reached up to once again thumb the still present purple bruise under her cheek. Her jaw dropped slightly, and he knew he had caught her off guard. She blinked as he stopped moving his thumb and held his hand against her cheek.

"You know, you can talk to me if you need to. I'm on your side in this. I'm on your side in everything." He gave her a small smile, more genuine than her stoic one. His words surprised her more than his previous action. This time, he watched her try and fail to blink it back, and he identified a singular emotion stitched in her features. _Relief. _He memorized her expression as questions flooded his head behind it's origin. But before he could construct any theories, the moment was gone. She twisted out of his touch and continued to take pictures, avoiding his general direction. She kept her back faced to him until he gave up and descended to meet the questioning gaze of his boss.


	3. Chapter 3

**AN: Thank you everybody for your follows, favorites, and reviews! It's been a few days for me to update but I'm pretty please with this chapter. It's Tiva-less- bear with me- but very exciting. Everyone has been pretty pleased with the idea of Vigilante Ziva and that will be fleshed out further in upcoming chapters. Please don't hesitate to send me your ideas and suggestions, I have lots of the story planned out but not everything! Enjoy, read, and review! **

_Casualty Assistance Calls Officer._

Sitting in a silent car ride, Ziva repeated the title over and over again in her head until the words lost their familiarity. She had an impressive resume of experience with civilian casualties- her time in the IDF, her time at Mossad, even a few during her time in America. She'd had to inform wives, sisters, children, husbands, parents, and partners of all sorts of death before, but it was not her primary position. She didn't wake up in the morning and plan on being the messenger. But these officers hedged their livelihoods on the aftermath of death. Not only did they have the responsibility of informing families and comforting through the second round of immediate consequences that stemmed from the tragedy, they spent the next weeks with paper reminders: filing claims, helping with insurance communications, securing death benefits. Ziva tugged at her star of David. She would take a career in the line of fire over their duties any day.

_I've died before, _she thought, smiling to herself at how the sentence didn't sound right. _Well, essentially. _Her team had thought her dead and swollen in the ocean with the sunken Damocles, and her father had thought her dead before she'd even boarded the ship. No Mossad copies of _Casualty Assistance Officers_ necessary. Despite their military involvement, no members of the David family were ever visited by such countrymen. Tali's and her mother's deaths were both too sudden and the need for such formalities was superseded by Eli's high political standings at the time. Ari was killed an ocean away from home, half of his surviving family planted behind the trigger, the other half receiving the news directly from Eli's political allies. As for Eli's death, well, Ziva was placed at the scene for that as well, and the sensitive nature of the assassination struck out the use for such casualty assistance personnel.

She tried to imagine her father getting the news of the Damocles. Obviously he wouldn't have immediately assumed death- the sinking of the ship was their contingency plan if safe passage to the Horn hadn't been possible. But did he wonder? Did the thought that she might be swollen at the bottom of the sea cross his mind? After her capture, she never made contact. At what point during those three long summer months did Eli accept her death? Ziva internally fleshed out the possibilities. Perhaps he received a particularly unforgiving piece of intelligence about Saleem's camp and it hit him upon digestion. Perhaps he was sitting at dinner and his mind wandered to the realization of her universal absence. Perhaps he was at the synagogue, repeating verbal traditions in song, thinking of the daughter who had grown up at his side. What of after her rescue? Surely, her email to him was not the only revelation of her survival. His lifelong friend was the NCIS director, surely someone had sent him her medical report. Though they'd never spoke of it, like most occurrences in the last decade, he must have known before his own death what had happened at the camp. She squirmed in her seat, pursing her lips at the thought of her dad reading a report full of such _intimate _detail of her body, her scarring, her four months in hell. She'd never seen the report herself. Who else had?

Her thought process what cut short by the sound of McGee switching off the ignition. The two agents had arrived at the home of Petty Officer Destefani, where his widow and two children were waiting. She looked out of the window and looked around for other visitors. "McGee, has the family been informed already...?" She questioned, afraid that their investigative visit had been mistimed with the military personnel's.

"Gibbs said the CAO's left about an hour ago. The wife is probably still shaken up." McGee pulled the keys out of the slot. "She has probably had enough time to tell the kids, and let's be gentle as possible."

Ziva laughed, and smiled at her companion's sensitivity and strategizing. "I am trained as well McGee, yes? But you are right. I'll be as gentle as possible." She reached for her door handle, but he stopped her with a hand on her other shoulder.

"While we have a moment... I haven't really gotten a chance to talk to you on your own since you've been back from.. you know." He gestured at general nothingness. "Are you doing alright?"

Her smile faltered slightly, but Ziva was flattered by his care, and slightly suspicious. "I am fine, McGee. I have had my time." She moved her fingers to unbuckle her forgotten seatbelt. "Did Tony put you up to this?"

"I care too, Ziva." He looked up at her, hurt peeking through his attempt to hide it in his face and his voice. "It might be less... _blatant_ than Tony, but I do."

"I am sorry McGee. I do not doubt that. I did not mean for it to come across that way." She shook her head. She reminded herself that not every dynamic on their team revolved around Tony. "He has just been particularly persistent in the past, and he just will not let the bruise on my face go since he was it this morning, even though I insist it is nothing."

"Oh. Yeah, well, no, he hasn't said much to me after I told him I didn't know anything about it." McGee unbuckled his own seatbelt.

"Oh." Ziva returned. They sat in the car for another ten seconds in silence. Ziva slid her eyes sideways to look at the young agent. As much as she wanted not to discuss it any further, because there was no truth about the mark she was willing to divulge to anyone on her team, her curiosity got the best of her. "You are not going to ask?"

McGee smiled. "I'll admit, it surprised me this morning. Ninjas usually escape without any marks." His hands drifted over his body- secured his gun, assured the presence of his badge on his hip, checked for the wallet in his pocket. "But Ziva, I know you well. The bruise could very well be nothing, or you could have actually gotten it from the gym, as weak of a story as that is. Another possibility is you're in some sort of abusive relationship..." Tim snorted at the idea. "Which everyone knows would end much, much worse for the guy who tried to put his hands on you." Ziva returned the snort. _Right on target, McGee. _He chuckled at the expression she made. "Like I said, it could very well be nothing. Or it could be something you're involved in. Big or small, I trust that you know what you're doing, you know how to handle yourself." He turned to face her now. "I trust that you know the whole team, and myself personally, are here if you need anything. Just like I've always been."

His care brought a grin to Ziva's face. She reached across the car to ruffle his hair. Despite the sinking feeling in her stomach, she really did believe him. It wasn't a lack of Tim or the rest of the team being there for her in her times of need that kept her from explanation, it was her need to protect them. She had gotten involved in her 'extracurricular activities' on her own, and they didn't need to be dragged down if her plans unraveled her true persona. "You are right. I know. Now, let us go do our jobs, yes?" She opened the car door and stepped out, slowing to let McGee catch up to her spot on the driveway.

The two had barely made it onto the front walkway when the front door of the house swung open to release two young kids, running past them in matching blue shirts and black athletic shorts, the hard plastic of their cleats knocking on the sidewalk as they made their way to the minivan parked on the driveway. A woman followed in jeans and a button-up blouse, holding a cooler and a forgotten pair of shin guards, strategically closing the door with her foot to prevent the escape of a dog barking from the inside. The woman, flustered and hurried, was not completely composed but definitely did not show any signs of recently becoming a widow. All that betrayed her was a residual red puffiness around her eyes. "Can I help you?"

Ziva and McGee exchanged a look, surprised by the woman's demeanor. Ziva stepped forward. "Yes, are you Elaine Destefani?"

The woman used her free hand to tuck some of her short blonde hair behind her headband and adjusted the cooler on her hip. "Yes, and you are?"

"NCIS. We uh.. Are you aware of the situation with your husband?" McGee said, holding out his credentials. Ziva shifted her weight from left to weight, uncomfortable. Surely they weren't the first ones to visit.

The woman blinked hard and swallowed audibly. She looked at her feet for a moment before returning to McGee's gaze, her brow knotted into a tight line. "Yes. I am aware of the situation. But my kids have a soccer game. It's my turn to bring snack.." Her voice faltered as she weakly gestured to the cooler.

"Have you informed your children?" Ziva remarked, taken aback by her own abruptness. Elaine opened her mouth in protest and narrowed her eyebrows further. "We just have a few questions you." Ziva muttered gently, embarrassed.

"When I inform my children of their.." Elaine inched closer to the two agents. ".. father's _death, _is my own business, and mine alone. Marshall lived for the Navy, and apparently died for it as well, but they will not tell me how to run my family. Now if you'll excuse me, my children have a soccer game." She was shaking now, moments away from losing her hold on the cooler. She straightened up and turned to look at her kids, now waiting in the backseat of the minivan, paying no attention to the group of adults. "I will be back in about two hours, you can ask me anything you want then."

Ziva was beginning to grow impatient. As admirable as this woman's commitment to her resolve was, they had a job to do, and she didn't quite agree with the blonde's strategy of delaying the inevitable truth to her children. "Mam, we must insist. Foul play is suspected and we are trying to put in every effort to bringing your husband justice."

Ziva thought Elaine's glare would burn holes into her forehead. Before Ziva could insist again, she was cut off. "I do not have the time. My brother in law is inside. He came over as soon as I delivered the news. Him and Marshall are... _were_ very close. He can answer any questions you have." She set the cooler on the pavement before aligning herself with the front doorway. "Dave!"

Her yell sent shivers down Ziva's spine. _David is a very popular name_, she reminded herself. She rolled her shoulders in attempt to maintain her composure. "Dave!" The second yell coincided with the front door opening to reveal a well built man, grief much more apparent on him than his composed sister in law. Ziva took in his attire- he was dressed in old jeans, with a gray undershirt peeking out of the unbuttoned collar of a green flannel, appropriate for someone who had rushed over at bad limbs were sturdy, strong from years of service, and seemed to be disjointed from his torso, swinging at his joints as he made his way to Elaine. Ziva's eyes wandered to the top of him. His short military haircut revealed veins around his ears, the soft fuzz on his hairline doing nothing to hide new lines of age carved into his forehead. Her gaze made the length of his face. His furrowed brow and prominent nose matched his glinting green eyes, but contrasted against the lower half of his face. She recognized the look, she had met many men like him before. Men who always have a smile on their face, on their mouth, but it was never completely reflected in their eyes. Men like this had eyes who only pushed an edge of warning and unease upon anyone willing to look into them.

Ziva closed her eyes momentarily, afraid of what was to come, before she continued her downward pattern of scanning the man. When she opened them, her eyes locked at the base of his throat. The flaps of his flannel collar shifted with his forward movement to taunt her with an angry, red X, unforgiving. The skin around the mark revealed it to be no natural or normal scar. The once white flesh had bubbled around, small air pockets tracing the edges of the X. If the presence of the abnormal scar had not completely affirmed Ziva's fear, the unique overlapping chemical burn erased all doubt. As his strides brought him to the group of three, she remembered to breathe.

The man initially paid no attention to the two agents, but pulled the woman into a tight side-hug and kissed her temple, resting his nose in the place where her headband met her scalp. He looped his arm around Elaine's body to grip her elbow. Ziva watched the woman as her eyes shifted to the ground, no longer possessing the confidence and emotion she expressed two minutes ago. The man finally brought his eyes up to McGee. "NCIS? How can I be of assistance?" Ziva observed in what felt like slow motion as the man nodded at Tim, then freezing when his eyes landed on Ziva.

She wasn't quite sure of which reaction he was going to commit to. She watched as all of the possibilities danced across his face- anger, fear, embarrassment, shock. She heard McGee say something, but couldn't bring herself to break they eye contact. He instinctively reached to trace his fingers over the base of his throat.

"You..." He forcibly removed his other arm from Elaine's elbow to stick it towards Ziva, an accusatory finger pointed outwards. He tilted his head in her direction, taking a threatening step forward. She could barely hear McGee's words over her heartbeat that had crawled out of her chest, but understood their general meaning when he put a protective arm in front of her. She secured her footing as the man came towards her, but she couldn't figure out how to coordinate her body in defense. She could only watch as he reached his hand out towards her neck and-

An electrifying crack penetrated their ears from behind her, overwhelming the entire group. She heard the children and Elaine erupt in screams as she watched David buckled, his had still extended and inches from Ziva's chest, and twisted down to the concrete. She pivoted in the direction of the shot, and witnessed a black sedan at the end of the driveway. The windows were tinted, revealing nothing of the interior except for the driver with his window open. "Gun!" she yelled, tackling Elaine to the ground as McGee rushed to secure the kids. The tires squealed and she leapt off the woman, pinned to the ground in her own shock. She chased after the vehicle, making a few hundred feet of progress before it rounded a corner. She made her way back to the house to evaluate, her mind forcing her into her Mossad habit. She needed to take inventory. The yard gave an unobstructed path to where David was standing, the perfect opportunity for the shooter.

"McGee, I am calling an ambulance. Secure the kids and get Gibbs on the line." She removed her phone from her pocket, making the appropriate call. She hung up as the dispatchers had their location and she found Elaine, who was still lying on the pavement, all of two feet from the crumpled body. She pulled her up and away. "It's all right. It's all right." She stroked Elaine's hair. As the shock faded from her face, Elaine expressed a small smile. Ziva furrowed her brow, shocked at the unexpected reaction. "Your kids need you. Are you alright?"

Elaine's smile only grew as McGee let the children out of the minivan and then attached themselves at their mothers side, crying. "Sam, Josie, everything is going to be... fine." Ziva could not stand to watch this any more. She rushed the three into the house, confused and frustrated at the woman's display. McGee returned to his phone call with Gibbs, and she found herself alone on the driveway, accompanied only by the body. She crouched down to examine him. The anger from his face was now gone, leaving blank expression in his cheeks, mouth, and his brow. A pool of blood had formed behind his head and stained the light concrete. His eyes had not changed. She pushed the gray undershirt aside to expose the base of his throat. She looked over her shoulder to ensure McGee was still absorbed in his conversation, and when her privacy was confirmed, she ran her thumb over the familiar and furious red scar.


End file.
